Love at First Bite Bundle

by Kimberly Raye

  “How long?” The last time she’d had computer problems, Dill had confiscated her machine for two weeks and she’d been forced to manually schedule several weeks worth of appointments.

  “This afternoon.”

  “Really?” Hope blossomed. Maybe her day wasn’t going to hell in a handbasket after all.

  He grinned. “Just consider it an early wedding present.”

  Before the words could register, she heard Charlie’s shriek. “Oh, my God. She’s here, everyone. She’s here!”

  “Who?” Nikki turned and glanced behind her as Charlie abandoned his station and rushed toward her, his arms open wide.

  He caught her and gave her a delicate smack on the cheek. “To think the ladies’ bingo squad actually placed bets that you butter your bread on the wrong side.”

  Charlie had his long blond hair pulled back into a chic ponytail. He wore a clingy black button-up polyester shirt, à la Tim McGraw, tight faded jeans and a polished pair of what the local cowboys referred to as roach killers. His boots were pointy and shiny with just enough heel to add two inches to his petite five-foot-four frame.

  “Why, those old biddies wouldn’t know a lesbian if she up and smacked them on their polyester-covered asses.” He stepped back, his gaze dropping to the white blouse Nikki had pulled on when she’d stopped off at her house. His smile widened. “Try getting dressed with the lights on next time, honey. Your fiancé will love it.”

  Nikki glanced down and saw the uneven shirttails and the lone button she’d missed. From the corner of her eye she saw Dillon’s ears fire a bright shade of crimson before he turned back to her hard drive and started unhooking wires at the speed of light.

  “I was in a hurry,” she blurted. Frantically she plucked open the last three buttons and slid them into their designated holes. “I overslept and—” Her words died as her gaze collided with Charlie’s and reality hit. “Fiancé? Did you just say fiancé?”

  Charlie nodded. “Mr. Tall, Dark and Do Me from the motel. I’d be majorly offended that you didn’t kiss and tell since I am your closest friend, but I’m too relieved. Not that I thought you were a lesbian. It’s just…let’s face it, sugar, you’ve had rotten luck with men.” He shrugged and turned.

  Nikki headed for her station while Charlie picked up his comb and started teasing the brown hair in front of him. “Which leads me to believe,” he went on, “that you attract these losers on a more subconscious level because a) you just don’t want to be successful at love or b) you’re definitely climbing into bed from the opposite side.”

  “Couldn’t it be a and b?” The question came from the twenty-something brunette buffing nails in the far corner. Familiar green eyes peered over the top of a pair of conservative wire frames.

  Cheryl Anne was sweet, bubbly and extremely spoiled. She was also Dillon’s kid sister, and therefore, a bit on the geeky side, thanks to DNA. In an effort to shed the big G image, she’d chosen cosmetology rather than pre-law. A choice that hadn’t upset her parents in the least because it meant that she could continue to live at home; they’d been heartbroken when Dill had up and moved to his own place at the tender age of twenty-seven. Their father—a local justice of the peace—routinely brought Cheryl Anne lunch and gassed up the sixty-thousand-dollar BMW he’d given her when she’d received her nail license. Their mother stopped by daily to offer the use of her credit cards or bring a round of lattes.

  “Maybe she’s subconsciously hooking up with losers because she really wants to hook up with a woman,” Cheryl Anne went on.

  Charlie wagged a comb at her. “That’s what I said.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Buff, buff. “You said a or b. Not a or b, or a and b.”

  “That’s right.” The brown football helmet sitting in Charlie’s chair blew at a teased piece of bang that had fallen into her eyes. “You just said or.”

  “I meant or or and.” Charlie picked up a section of hair and worked the comb through it. “It’s a figure of speech. It can go either way.” He shot Cheryl Anne a glare. “Stop making a fuss. You’re taking away from Nikki’s special moment.”

  “Congratulations,” echoed down the row of women perched under the dryers.

  “We’re so happy for you.” Cheryl Anne paused midbuff and beamed at Nikki. “I have this totally hot nail kit especially for brides. You have to let me try it out. It has rhinestone appliqués.”

  “I’m definitely doing your hair,” Charlie chimed in. “I’m thinking an updo with pearls—”

  “Wait,” Nikki cut in, her mind racing. Married? She wasn’t getting married. Of all the ridiculous notions—

  “You’re right,” Charlie cut into the denial that raced through her head. “Pearls are so precocious. You’re definitely more a rhinestone girl.”

  “I love rhinestones,” Cheryl Anne piped in.

  “Me, too,” the brown football helmet added.

  “I’m not getting married,” Nikki blurted. “That’s crazy.”

  “Of course it is. You just got engaged. You probably haven’t even set a date. You haven’t, have you?” Before Nikki could tell him that she wasn’t getting married now—or ever, with the way her luck was running—he rushed on. “While I can understand that he might have just asked you and you haven’t really had time to tell everyone, I know with absolute, positive certainty that you wouldn’t set a date without telling your best friend. It was bad enough hearing about the engagement from Janice Simcox, who heard it from Rochelle Pryor, who heard it from her brother Mitchell Davis, who heard it from Eldin—”

  “Winona,” Nikki cut in as the last few frantic minutes started to fall into place—from Dillon’s “wedding present” comment, to the whole botched lesbian theory. In a small town, sex equaled a boyfriend, which equaled till death do us part.

  If the woman in question was a nice girl, that is.

  Charlie planted his hands on his slim hips. “You didn’t tell that nosy bigmouth before me, did you?”

  “I didn’t. I mean, I did. Sort of.” Nikki shook her head. “She asked about last night and I told her I was with Jake. But he’s just a…a friend,” she said. “Not my fiancé.”

  “Boyfriend. Fiancé. What’s the difference?”

  “An engagement ring.” A woman peeked from beneath one of the dryers. “A great, big, fat rock the size of Texas.”

  “Amen,” the lady sitting next to her added.

  “Ring, schming.” Charlie waved his comb. “Darlene and I tied the knot without a ring and we’ve been married almost ten years. She wanted a platinum emerald-cut diamond that I couldn’t afford at the time on account of I was just a shampoo boy over at Earline’s Hair Salon. So we said ‘I do’ first, I switched jobs and saved for a ring and now everybody’s happy. It’s all about economics.”

  “A girl’s gotta have a ring,” a woman chimed in. “I say pick out something cheap in the meantime, then replace it later. Wally Picker just got in this new shipment of cubic zirconia.” She flashed a newly manicured hand.

  Nikki’s impending nuptials were quickly forgotten as everyone flocked toward the glittering rock that sat on the woman’s finger.

  Nikki took the opportunity to flee into the back room. A few seconds later, she set her purse in her locker, pulled on her apron and tried to understand what had just happened.

  The entire town thought she was getting married thanks to Winona.

  Correction—thanks to Nikki herself.

  Sure, she’d never said the word marriage, but she’d foolishly admitted to a hot night of sex.

  In a small town like Skull Creek, a hot night of sex meant only one thing for a nice girl like Nikki—she was marrying the other half of the dynamic sex duo.

  She closed her eyes and smacked her head against the locker. Once. Twice. Her forehead throbbed, but it didn’t make her feel any better. No pity party could change things. There was only one way to get herself out of this mess.

  She had to tell the truth. Everything. All the sordid details.
From severe sexual deprivation to hormone-driven acquiescence to mouthing off out of sheer humiliation.

  Then again, she’d tried this morning—sort of—and it had gotten her this close to an updo and rhinestone bridal nails.

  Besides, if she spilled her guts, everyone would realize that she’d gotten busy with a total stranger. Sure, she was a grown woman. An independent, red-blooded, normal woman fully capable of having a safe one-night stand. An explanation that would fly if she were in any major city in the free world. But this was a small Texas town where gossip was as abundant as cow manure.

  Nikki had spent her entire life trying to crawl out of Jolene’s shadow.

  One night would push her right back in if people were to learn the truth.

  Better to go with the flow, play at a relationship—a long distance relationship since Jake had already left town—and then slowly fade him out of the picture.

  With her mind made up, she left the safety of the back room and headed for her workstation. A few minutes later, Mrs. MacGregor, swathed in a black cape, parked in Nikki’s stylist chair.

  “So you’ll be bringing him to the fairgrounds tonight for the cook-off?” Charlie spared Nikki a glance.

  “I—”

  “Of course she will be,” Cheryl Anne piped in. “Everybody will be there. Talk about the perfect time to prove to the world that you’re not grieving over Bill.”

  “You have to come,” Charlie reiterated. “Darlene and I will be there, and I would love for her to meet this guy. Not that she supported the lesbian theory, mind you. Not one hundred percent—omigod, are you blushing?”

  Blushing? Nikki glanced in the mirror and noted the flush that crept up her neck and spread into her cheeks.

  “You are,” Charlie rushed on before she could blurt out a semiplausible excuse. As if she could even think of one. As if she could think, period. The past night kept rushing through her mind. Jake and the sex. The sex and Jake. Her nerves buzzed. Her hands trembled.

  Forget.

  “Too cute,” Charlie added. “Listen, I could do your hair for tonight. Something special to impress the new Mr. Braxton. I’m thinking long and tousled.”

  “What about pulled up?” Cheryl Anne rolled a bottle of Come and Get Me red nail polish between her palms. “Men like a bare neck.”

  “Men like the I-just-rolled-out-of-bed look more,” Charlie told her.

  “What makes you the expert when it comes to men?” Cheryl Anne arched one waxed eyebrow.

  “I happen to have a penis.”

  “You might have all the equipment, but your heart isn’t in it. You eat quiche.”

  “I also cook it, but that’s beside the point.” He planted his hands on his hips. “I’m still a man and I say we do long and tousled.”

  “I vote for pulled up.”

  “I like braids myself,” Mrs. MacGregor offered. “What about you, Nikki? What do you think?”

  I think I’d like another night. Just to see if the second would be half as good as the first.

  The thought pushed its way in and Nikki pushed it right back out. Over, remember? She drew a shaky breath and tried to concentrate on the here and now. Just go along and fade out slowly.

  “So?” Charlie prodded. “Long and tousled? Updo? Braids?”

  She grabbed a mixing bowl. “Braids are nice.”

  And useful, she added silently.

  If her plan backfired, she could always make a noose with one, slip it over her head and end her misery once and for all.

  7

  IT WAS EIGHT O’CLOCK by the time Nikki said goodbye to her last customer and switched off the neon Open sign in the front window.

  Late for a typical Saturday; the salon closed at five.

  But not late enough for this particular night.

  She’d taken things slow throughout the day—painstakingly so. Since her computer was now sitting in Dillon’s brightly lit shop across the street—he was notorious for putting in the late hours thanks to a nonexistent social life—she’d spent an extra hour manually scheduling appointments. She’d cut and styled client after client at the pace of a turtle. She’d even done extra lowlights—free of charge—on her last customer. And a deep-conditioning treatment. And a few hair extensions. She’d also taken a lengthy break to head over to the hardware store to pick up some swatches for new paint colors for her kitchen. While she’d managed to close three hours later than usual, she was still finished early enough to make an appearance at the cook-off.

  She glanced at the balloon bouquet—a cluster of pink and white latex surrounding a silver Mylar Congratulations—sitting at her station. A plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies sat next to it, along with a basket of fresh-baked blueberry muffins, a platter of Ms. Langtree’s prize-winning fudge and a monstrous foil-wrapped meat loaf.

  All engagement presents from her loyal customers.

  She’d actually felt a small sliver of excitement when the balloons had first arrived.

  Followed by a mental ass-kicking that had started with a very loud Earth to Nikki! You don’t have a fiancé. You don’t have a boyfriend. You don’t even have a cat.

  Which meant she was going to the cook-off solo—and every other event during the weeklong Founder’s Day celebration, including Friday night’s Fall Ball.

  The couples event of the year.

  No one missed the dance. Even Golden Acres, the local seniors home, bussed its residents—a lively bunch of men and women known as the Greyhounds—over for the event.

  Nikki had assumed she would go with Bill before she’d discovered the twin skeletons of infidelity hanging in his closet.

  Not that she was disappointed. She was more relieved. At least she’d found out before she’d gotten even closer to him. Besides, the breakup had been just the jump-start she’d needed to get on with her life. And her future.

  Without a man.

  She glanced at the clock again before busying herself around the shop. She straightened hair products and Windexed the front windows. She waved back at Dillon, who waved at her from across the street. She stared at the new paint swatches and tried to envision each of them covering the walls in her kitchen. She knew her mother would go for the red—namely because Jolene had said so more than once since learning about the house—while Aunt Izzie would choose her usual yellow. And Nikki? She liked both colors and at least a half dozen others.

  But more than worrying over the right shade, Nikki found herself trying to come up with an excuse to get her out of the current predicament.

  She would tell Charlie and Cheryl Anne that Jake had had to cut his visit short because of a work-related emergency and he’d already left town to go back home.

  Not that she knew where “home” was.

  While they’d had incredible sex, he was still little more than a stranger.

  The truth should have sent a rush of embarrassment through her, but her brain excluded the stranger part and snagged on the sex. A vivid image rushed at her, and she saw him looming above her, his face dark and intense, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. She felt the press of his weight as he spread her thighs even wider and pushed deep.

  Nikki bit her lip against the sudden ache between her legs. Crazy, right? She’d done the deed. Satisfied the need. The only thing she should feel at the moment was complete and total satisfaction.

  She didn’t.

  Before she could dwell on the thought, her cell phone rang and the paint swatches scattered.

  “I’m pulling in the back parking lot,” Jolene’s deep, sultry voice came over the line. “Meet me at the back door.” Click.

  Jolene? Here? Now?

  Nikki scrambled for her purse and retrieved a tube of lipstick. She swiped her lips and rubbed them together. Pulling out her ponytail holder, she flipped her head upside down and rifled her hands through her hair. She’d just righted herself to spray her newly fluffed hair when she heard the knock on the back door. She stabbed the button on the freeze spray and whirled it aroun
d her head. Chucking the can, she rushed toward the rear of the building.

  On the way, she undid an extra button on her blouse. Taking a deep breath and pasting on her most alluring smile, she flipped the dead bolt and hauled open the back door.

  “It’s about time. I’m melting out here.” Jolene Braxton looked every bit her forty-six years and then some thanks to one too many late nights.

  But while she was worn around the edges, she was still a beautiful woman. She had thick blond hair and creamy white skin and a trim figure. She wore a snug red dress and matching high heels. Bright red fingernails glittered in the dim light as she fanned her face.

  “What in tarnation took you so long?”

  Nikki beamed. “Just freshening up.”

  Heavily rimmed eyes raked her from head to toe. “You really should try wearing a little more makeup, dear. You look washed out. And that hair…try some mousse or something. It’s much too flat.” Jolene walked past her.

  “I’ve been working all day, Mom.” She turned to follow the woman toward the front of the shop. “What’s up?” As if she didn’t know.

  “I had to stop by and see for myself.” Her gaze riveted on the cluster of engagement gifts. “Holy hell, it is true.” Her chest pumped as if she were trying to take a deep breath but just couldn’t seem to drag enough air into her lungs. “You’re engaged,” she said accusingly.

  “I am not.”

  “Yes, you are.” Her gaze collided with Nikki’s. “Izzie’s been in the kitchen all afternoon.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes. She made a pie. An apple pie,” Jolene delivered the final verdict.

  Uh-oh. Apple pie was Izzie’s specialty and it meant only one thing.

  The bridal march played in Nikki’s head and she closed her eyes. “She talked to Winona, didn’t she?”

  “Of course she did. That old woman couldn’t wait to call and spread the news. Izzie practically fell all over herself rushing to the oven. Meanwhile, I had a coronary.”

  Nikki waited for the standard “This is too quick” speech that most mothers would have delivered upon hearing of their daughter’s sudden engagement. “You don’t know this man. Give it some time. Then if you still feel the same way…”